


Silenced

by Ravin



Category: White Collar
Genre: Car Accidents, Drunk Driving, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 0-10 Minutes, loss of voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 05:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16011677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravin/pseuds/Ravin
Summary: Neal is in a car accident and loses his voice.Fic and podfic inside.





	Silenced

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my HC-Bingo square loss of voice / forced silence.

Download or stream the podfic of this work from Google Drive [here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Hksh8Q7w4SoKMC256l9Fru1MTX-VqmvB/view?usp=sharing).

* * *

 

Prior to the accident, Neal never really thought about how much he relied on his voice. How many times every day did he manipulate a person with just a few words and a smile? How many flirtatious one-liners did he throw out? How many half-truths did he tell? After the accident, it seemed that his voice was all he could think about. Now, Neal was desperate just be able to tell someone hello.

Neal never really considered how much he needed his voice to get by. His voice was an intrinsic part of who he was, one of the many tools in his arsenal that he used every day to do what he loved best. Neal could do a lot with just a smile or the way he dressed. He could control how people saw him and, by doing so, he controlled their reactions to him. He controlled them.

Peter thought it was the adrenaline rush that had him pulling con after con, but it wasn't. Not really. The adrenaline was good too, but that wasn't why Neal kept doing it. It was the ability to control others that made Neal powerful.

Growing up everything was decided for him. What he wore. What he ate. When he ate. Where he went. Who he went with. Sometimes, as a child, Neal had felt as though he was merely a character in a play and the script was being dictated by someone else. Now, he was the master of his own fate, and everyone around him, at least for a little while, were his puppets on the stage. Well, he _was_ the master of his own fate. But now? Neal wasn't sure what he was now, or what was going to happen next.

He wasn't even actively working on a case with Peter when the accident had happened. They had just been driving back to Peter’s house to pick up El when it happened. Neal had been excited. El wanted to go to a new artist’s opening at an art gallery downtown and had insisted to Peter that Neal come too. Peter had objected of-course, but El wanted someone who would appreciate the impressionistic works rather than just think they were an example of legal fraud.

There was a drunk driver. It seems like it is always a drunk driver that causes the most damage. The story behind the most tragic headlines. Only this time, it wasn’t just a story with a headline. This drunk crashed head on into Peter’s car, and they had been going fast. Surprisingly fast for New York, where the streets were often so packed you could walk faster than you could drive.

In the first few seconds after the impact, Neal was shocked. It took a few minutes for him to really realize what had happened. Then he took stock of himself, and thought he was fine. Surprised, but fine. The impact had jarred him badly. Snapping his neck back and then forward again hard enough he bumped it on the dashboard, but he was fine.

“Neal? Neal!”

That was Peter, shouting at him. Was Peter hurt? Neal made himself look over at the FBI agent. Neal’s neck was sore, but he made himself turn. He could do it. Neal was fine.

Peter was fine too, it seemed. Looking at Neal with that concerned puppy-pleading in his eyes like he does every time an undercover op goes just a little wrong. Peter seemed a little blurry around the edges, like a picture from an out of focus camera lens, but he didn’t seem hurt.

“Pe-er?” Neal slurred. The car around them didn’t seem quite stable. Things were just a little off though. It felt like he was on a boat in open water. “You okay?” Neal’s voice didn’t sound quite right to him, but that was probably just because of the ringing in his ears. Neal was fine.

Peter was saying something. Neal could see Peter’s mouth moving, but the words didn’t quite register in Neal’s brain. Everything was off.

Those few seconds in time seemed to slow down and take an eternity. The few minutes after seemed to have been in fast-forward.

The paramedics showed up and soon had Peter and Neal loaded onto gurneys. They put a neck brace on Neal before moving him. Neal tried to protest. He didn’t need the contraption. It itched, but they shushed him and wrapped it securely around his neck anyways. Neal couldn't see Peter anymore, but he hoped the agent was getting the same embarrassing treatment.

From there, everything seemed too move too fast. Neal knows they were loaded onto the ambulance and rushed to the nearest hospital, but he doesn’t really remember much. Later, the doctors would tell him that he had a bad concussion. That not remembering was natural. That he would probably never remember, but it wasn’t the memory problem that left Neal breathless and with his heart beating too hard, too fast. It was his voice.

They didn’t find out until later. Later, when the nurse came into his room, and he tried to flirt. “Are you lost Ma’am? Because heaven is a long way from here.” He tried to say with a smile, but when he spoke, there was nothing. No sound. Neal could feel the air moving out his mouth, but nothing.

At first, he thought his hearing was damaged. Had he gone deaf? But then the nurse spoke, “What was that, dear?”

And he tried again, “Hello, beautiful.” But nothing.

Now the nurse was frowning at him. “Let me call the doctor, hun.” She tried not to show it, but her whole demeanor had changed. She was worried and that made Neal scared.

The doctor arrived a few minutes later and examined Neal’s throat, neck, and lungs. Using his latex cover fingers to probe tender tissue and pushing his cold stethoscope against Neal’s chest over and over. Soon he ordered a battery of tests.

It was the CT scan that showed the problem. Laryngeal fractures, tiny, but a lot of them. The doctor said they had probably been caused when his head snapped backwards in the crash. They said his odds were good on recovering his voice, but he needed surgery to repair the damage.

“It’ll be okay.” Peter said, but Neal knew he was mostly trying to convince himself of that.

“Oh, honey.” El hugged him and looked at him with pity in her eyes.

Neal didn’t want their comfort or pity. He wanted his voice back. He needed his voice back. Without his voice he was powerless. Sure, he could still smile and dress and pretend but without his voice all that power was pointless. He could not direct the mark to do what he wanted just by smiling. He needed his voice to plant ideas, to encourage, and to convince.

Neal felt adrift in a sea of people. Surrounded by life and sound and happiness, but somehow set apart from it. Separated by his inability to participate. Silenced.

**Author's Note:**

> While any medical inaccuracies are mine, this fic is losely based on the information I found here: https://www.nytimes.com/1988/09/13/science/small-injuries-can-cause-lasting-vocal-ills-doctors-say.html


End file.
